Dapoppins

2009-11-13T11:46:00.000-08:00

It's two months into the school year and I still haven't established any type of daily routine. My days seem choppy and more than a little messy, with no rhyme or reason to them. I never know if I am coming or going or taking a nice long nap.

I almost forgot that the kids had a Veteran's Day assembly at School. Being this is an evil, government run public school I had no idea what to expect, so I wanted to be there. Plus, one of my sons had gone out of his way to invite his Grandpa to this thing, so I sorta had to go and present my "involved parent" face to the world.

It was a short little program that actually honored veterans. There was a color guard from the local high school who presented the flag with respect. They sang traditional patriotic songs. We said the pledge of the allegiance and everyone was instructed in proper ways to salute the flag by placing our hands over our hearts. And About 50 veterans came out of the audience, including my dad, to receive flowers and thank you notes from the kids.

I had to check the date to make sure I hadn't traveled back in time to an era where we were proud of our country and proud of our service men and we taught our children to be proud too.

---if you are a new reader, my kids have always gone to private school or home schooled because they are my kids and my responsibility and I didn't want them attacked by gangs and bullies and peanuts and cafeteria food and school bathrooms and other outside influences that I can't control and teachers I don't personally know----

It was such a great program. Not too long. Honoring those who serve and have served...I got a bit teary eyed. I was impressed. Could I have possiablly been wrong about public school?

Well. Two days later two boys were arrested at this same school for taking a loaded gun to school.

Ah well. I can't have every thing.

Dinner party

2009-11-09T07:36:00.000-08:00

Everyone is invited to my house for Thanksgiving dinner this year.

I guess that means I will have to sweep the floors or something. Heh.

Actually, my family is scattered to the four winds, so I invited some other families instead. If my own folks won't eat my food, I bet some near-strangers will.

I'm not good cook, or a gifted hostess, or a ferocious hospitality offer-er.

I'm sure I will get a bit frazzled, even though this was my idea.

But If I want a big family gathering and my family is out-of-town, what's a girl to-do?

Your going to help me put this together, aren't you? Right? Please? Offer your good ideas? Special food? Tell me how to make sweet potatoes in a way that everybody will eat them?

You all will have to help me pick out an apron to wear.

Monday November 2

2009-11-08T09:07:00.000-08:00

(warning, this post isn't particularly upbeat and deals with death...)

It's days like these that I wish I could reach into a hat and pull out a funny story to share.

The way I do at parties and such.

I have a little story I tell when ever I get to go to a baby shower to share with the expectant mother--"Once I was at the video store and I looked down at my shirt and thought, how did I get mustard on my shirt? Huh. Oh. Wait, that's not mustard!"

And whenever I go to a bridal shower I can ask the future bride if she is really prepared for the amount of time her husband is going to spend in the bathroom, and all the matrons will chuckle with me.

When I go to a group gathering where I haven't seen people for awhile I can put on my fake "New York Grandmother" voice and say, "Oh Honey, you look wonderful! I haven't seen you in so long! Isn't that the same dress you wore 4 years ago? It looks great, a little more snug abound the middle, yes? Here, I made pie, would you like a piece?" And usually I can get a laugh as someone recognizes the same compliments and critiques they get from their own Grandma.

But I don't really have anything funny to say at funerals.

My Grandfather died last Monday. I am not sad...he was given three days to live and lasted almost four more months, and some of those were very good days. He was ready to go. Had said his good byes. And even though I could dredge up a dozen positive things to say, all I really want to say is how much I hate death.

I know how the myth of the grim reaper got started. If you have ever been in a room with a body that contains no spirit, you can almost feel that huge, black specter. Like a walking black hole. Like a vortex sucking at life, laughter, and soul. Sure, there may be light at the end of that vortex, but the living don't see it. We see only vacancy where there was once vibrancy.

The image of that empty shell stays with you. For me, it's not because of the pain of loss, or the gruesome ugliness of a body... it is because the person on the bed is so obviously empty, and nothing is going to change or rewind the moment. The instant is frozen in a picture of startling unreality.

I haven't seen a movie capture the true horror of death yet.

Sure, Hollywood can imitate blood and brutality, but pictures can not hold the specter standing invisible in the room with the body of a loved one.

Sorry for all the gloom.

But I am just reminded that Death is the enemy. An evil, enemy that I can hate without prejudice and without good reason. I don't have too look on the bright side, or compromise or agree with any aspect off it. Some might claim peace is a reasonable reward, but standing in the room with the Grim Reaper, I could feel no peace.

An absence of life is NOT peace.

Death is my enemy, and I will fight it with every bit of life that I have been given.

Good bye Grandpa, I will miss you, miss your nick-name for me, miss the hold of your big hands in mine. Until we meet again.

November

2009-11-01T18:44:00.000-08:00

There are things I like about Halloween and things I don't. Candy, dressing up, community, crisp night, getting spooked, are all good. We don't really celebrate Halloween, we don't dress up or go trick-or-treating, but I still like these things about October 31. What I don't like is the things teenagers do while all hopped up on the sugar drug. There were lots of nightly news reports about pumpkins being thrown through car windows, and kids playing with a baseball bats in apartment parking lots.

Now that the night is over, I can heave a sigh of relief and suck on my caramel apple lolly's without worry of having to call my insurance company.

Now it is time to vote. Since we haven't mailed our ballots, we will have to be taking in our ballets. I don't know really what is even on the thing yet other than the little color-in bubbles. Should I go for a snowflake pattern this year?

Actually, I take voting fairly seriously. I only feel I have the right to complain about politics if I actually voted. And I never like to pass up a chance to complain.

There is one of those "gay marriage/civil union" things on the ballot again too. . Being the good conservative that I am, I want to vote to protect the traditional meaning of marriage and the foundation of our society.

I mean, that is what you would think, right?

But...I can't do it. I just can't. Legalizing their relationship is the only way for two people to protect themselves in the tangle of lawsuits and junk of the court system. Legalizing their relationship with the state is the only way to protect their children from life changing decisions made by other people, including a judge, or some disgruntled relative.

Once I would have stood firm on my moral high ground. And I still do see the world in black and white...but the horse on this moral question left the barn and got lost in the mountains long ago. We are not ever going to be put that horse back in the barn.

This is how I see it...look at Rosie O'Donnell and her partner. They were/are? married. Kids were adopted and brought into the equation. They had a family, weather it was traditional or not, with all the demands and blessings there-of.

But say they weren't married...never had any legal backing.

And if Rosie's father, who she had huge issues with and who was abusive, steps into the picture and says he has as much right if not more to the kids than Rosie's partner...(heh, I don't know her name) And Rosie has a heart attack. Her dad (who is no longer alive, I think) could step into the lives of children he has no relationship with and wreck havoc on their lives. This may be far-fetched, but it happens. It happens a lot.

What if Rosie had no legal relationships, what if she got into an accident and in a coma and her Dad wanted to pull the plug, but her partner insisted Rosie be given a chance to wake. Who would get to decide? The best friend and co-parent of the children, or the estranged relative?

Because Rosie O'Donnell and her partner agreed on a document of marriage, now if they separate, those kids are protected. They will have to share them, weather they want too or not, Rosie will have to help provide for them in the form of child support and such and they will have to work out parenting agreements, just like other divorcing couples. No one gets to walk away and forget the last ten years ever happened.

Our court system is not the fault of children who's lives can be so devastated by a stranger's choice. How else do you protect a non-traditional family that is still very much an emotional, relational family, then through the law?

Since I don't think it would be right to solve all of this by forbidding parents who sin to have kids...(which obviously is a category I would fall into,) I can't see any answer other than to protect all families within the law.

Can you?

When I am Old

2009-10-20T16:36:00.000-07:00

This is a re-post, but I think I am so funny I just had to post it again. (What is your favorite post? Want to post it again? If you do, let me know!! .)

I am already preparing what kind of Grandma I plan to be.

I am going to say lots of outrageous things. I plan to ask loud embarrassing questions in public places (not that I don’t do that now.) I am going to eat whatever I want and drink coffee before I go to bed and when I get up.

One of my Grandmothers was always perfectly dressed, and the other put on whatever was clean. I think I will pick and choose between outfits, wear slacks with elastic waistbands to church, and skirts with high heels to my grandchildren's softball games.

And hats. I’m going to wear hats again. Right now, my head is too big for the average size hat, but when I’m eighty I’m sure I’ll shrink enough to be able to wear any hat I choose. I am especially fond of big floppy ones. When my grandchildren come to visit, they can try on all my hats.

I’ll always have food with me. Where ever I am. A child can say, “I’m hungry,” and I’ll magically produce a roll of life savers, or some toast and cheese left over from lunch wrapped up neatly in a napkin. I’m going to have a cookie jar on the counter, and if my grandchildren check to see what’s in it before they greet me, I won’t ever be insulted. And when My daughter-in-law tells them they are being rude, I will say, “No they aren’t dear, this is Grandma’s house.”

I will always ask my daughter in law if she has lost weight while handing her a piece of pie.

I promise to eat any half-nibbled, slimy bits of food a baby offers me, but when I get a cold from the baby I will blame my husband. Even if he’s not alive anymore to blame.

I’m going to travel. Some people make a list of things to do when they are young, places to see, adventures to complete. I’m saving my list for when I turn 70. I’m going to visit exotic places like China and Turkey, and send home post cards from every place I go. I’ll bring strange things back for my grandchildren, such as a stuffed piranha, cactus candy, the spikes of a poisoned urchin, and a top made from real coconut halves. And every time I visit, I am going to ask to see the treasures, just to make sure the adults of the house hold haven’t put them in the basement or the garage.

I have every intention of outliving my husband. And then, with the life insurance money, I’m going to buy a motorcycle. If it is too heavy for me, I am going to give it to my oldest grandchild with the insistence that he or she drive me to church every week. I am going to have a bright red motorcycle helmet with Sexy Grandma printed on the front. I will have a matching red leather jacket and cowboy boots too, and of course, a big matching purse.

My best friend, Bee, and I are going to go sky diving for my eightieth birthday. I’ll take so many anti-nausea and decongestant pills beforehand that I’ll get a little loopy. On the plane’s assent I am going to moan about never surviving this day, and sing “His Eye Is on the Sparrow.” Bee will hold tight to my hand in comfort, the giant ten carrot diamond ring that she bought herself for her seventy-fifth birthday, sending sparkles over my face.

When I am feeling better, I’m going to pinch my instructor’s bottom. I am going to tell him he is a really fine man. “Do you work out? May I squeeze your muscles? Are you married?” I might just let slip that I have a beautiful granddaughter. I am sure, I will also invite him to the next family dinner.

When they strap us two old ladies to our instructors I am going to say, “I haven’t been this close to a man since Bush was president. Is that your parachute or are you just feeling happy?’’

I’ll scream my head off during the jump, and then laugh hysterically. There is a good chance I’ll pee my pants too. If my instructor notices, I’ll just say, “Not to worry dear, I am just happy to be with you too!”

And if that is too much information, well, it’s okay, because I am eighty.

smells nice

2009-10-11T09:43:00.000-07:00

I am not a monster shopper, up on the latest trends. A few weeks ago, when my mom was in town, she gifted me with some snazzy new duds. One of which was a pair of bell bottom jeans. Now, I know these have been back in style for a year, at least, and are actually going out of style again. I hope. But the jeans fit, sorta, and they were $15 bucks. Who can resist that? Who cares if the bell of my bottoms are going to get caught in the chain of my cool banana seat bike? A deal is a deal.

Bee was over the other day and we were chatting and she pulls out this new trendy stuff from Bath and Body. I have never even heard of it. Body cream, but a new scent completely. Oooo.

Bee always knows the latest things. Music, clothes, all things Twilight. She has a female teenager. I guess that helps. Whatever. (insert eye roll) She was in the store and saw this and the sales lady said that THE Stephanie Myers helped create the scent and it REALLY is the signature scent. Don't you just love that? And let me tell you. It smells wonderful too. Very pretty.

Now go out and buy some.

And stop buying my favorite scent, while your at it. Mmmm'kay? Maybe I would be considered trendy again if people stopped smelling like me. Buy Twilight Woods and stay away from my Japanese Cherry Blossom.

mmmmm'kay?

Wish I could sew

2009-09-30T16:50:00.000-07:00

My pictures do not do this cute, local, fabric store justice.

I am a scrapper, not a sewer. The most I can sew are simple sock puppets. Every time I get near a sewing machine, the thread magically breaks or knots.

But this juicy, light filled store ~Aunt Tam's~ is a wonderland of bright color, vintage style, and creative inspiration. Every time I walk in, I need to take pictures.

If you ever come to visit me, you MUST visit Aunt Tam's too. Even if you don't sew, there is stuff you might NEED to have.

2009-09-26T11:29:00.000-07:00

Never begin a conversation with: "You Always Do this..."

Gifts from Friends

2009-09-23T14:44:00.001-07:00

So there I was, minding my own business.

I was just talking to my bestest friend in the world, Bee, on the ole cell phone. We was just chatting and stuff.

"How's the kids?" I say.

"I think I need to kill someone," she says.

"How was your first day of school?" I ask.

" I spent 20 minutes looking for a parking space," she says.

"Oh that is nice." I reply, because I am a good friend like that, so totally paying attention to the conversation and not yelling at my own kids or driving a car, or wondering what I can make for dinner tonight.

"Hey, do you want some tomatoes?" She asks.

And I am thinking of her glorious red gems on her back porch. Is she going to share a couple of ripe ones with me? How sweet is that? "Sure. I would love some."

"Okay, just come by and get them, I will bring you out some."

"Yippy, be there in 5."

So that's what I do. It's nice to know you have good friends out there to provide hints for dinner. With 2 or 3 tomatoes I can make salad, or sandwiches, or salsa, or something good. I love me some fresh tomatoes. I drive over to her little place and honk the horn and out comes my bestest friend in the world with my couple of tomatoes.

Oh. Thanks

A BOX. Of. Tomatoes.

Sheeshe. Yeah I could can them or do something thrifty. She suggests freezer tomatoes, or a big batch of salsa or fresh sauce…and I am thinking :"ARE YOU NUTTS! You said nothing about me actually having to Do something with a HUGE friggen box of tomatoes. I am not a rabbit or the mother of little rabbit-lings. No way are we going to eat all those. What are you thinking?"

She is thinking they are my problem now.

Ahh. Soo nice to have good friends.

Stories of Yester Year

2009-09-21T18:15:00.000-07:00

Maxine 1980-ish

(On a recent visit to my Grandma's I stole her travel diary. You might not find the excerpt as funny as I did, but that's okay. )

…about over Great Lakes. Dumped snack tray upside down. Naomi made me take a pill, we have ate so much we are absolutely stuffed but I just dumped the smoked salmon on the floor.

…Saw the spray over Niagara Falls. Got to New York, had to fly out over Newark about four times as the planes were stacked up- I thought we was never going to get to land--that damn plane went up and down and we fastened seat belts four times before we finally landed. Then it took forty minutes to taxi into the terminal as we were in a hold pattern.

Got off the plane, didn’t know where the hell we were, finally found a cute little Dutchman from K.L. M. who took us ten blocks through the terminal, down the stairs and around ( Naomi kept going straight on finally caught her) and out through the door outside and O MY GAWD every taxi, bus, and private car and fifty million people with bags and suit case were waiting to catch a bus to get to the right terminal. Taxi drivers were cussing car drivers who were cussing bus drivers who were cussing passengers – we finally got shoved on to a bus to take us to K.L.M which was so packed we had to stand and the driver went around corners so fast every one standing ended up sitting on top of the sitting people.

As was our luck we had to go four miles, last ones off to catch the Dutch plane and we got there we didn’t know what to do, after running upstairs, downstairs finally found the gal from American Express who was supposed to meet us when we got off the plane, then had to go back, get passport checked and because our plane got in late and so many people loading the 747 they started loading 45 minutes early and all the good stats were taken so we got to sit with the Rabbi’s. That way we got our food blessed (even after that we couldn’t eat it, didn’t make the food any more tender,) We were eleventh in line land there were 16 planes ready to take off at 5 minutes intervals.

O My. Finally the flying city took off, I figured Here We Go. We got air born as it was so big we went up slow and up and up and up then leveled off, my ears popped a dozen times - we were over the ocean heading for Fairfax, Newfoundland and now its time to eat.

We had the cutest stewardess, little tall Dutch girls and by now we had a bloody mary before dinner drink and then the food. But they served the Rabbis’ first-- long whiskers and black hats and what we thought made them look like Quakers --which they blessed and then this big woman with them spent all night running up and down the narrow aisle talking Hebrew to some of them and she wouldn’t move for anyone. The poor stewardess told her a dozen times and also the rabbis to please sit down but they didn’t understand her. Naomi had to go to the bathroom and she just shoved them out of the aisle, I nearly cracked up and so did some passengers.

We got our supper a stale roll, rice and beef and a dessert which looked to me like half of a tomato with mayonnaise. I was putting some salt on it and the stewardess was pouring me some coffee. She said, Why are you putting salt on that?”

“ I said I always put salt on my salad.”

The stewardess spilt coffee all over me and said, “ That’s your sweet! It was a peach half soaked in red cherry juice but looked like a tomato and sitting on top of pudding and the mayonnaise was whip cream. Later the stewardess kept coming back wanting to know who the sweet tasted and I told her the salt improved it, she nearly died when she found out I ate it, …what she didn’t know was that the salt shaker didn’t work …but she kidded meal the way to Amsterdam…

Maxine

2009-09-13T19:05:00.001-07:00

Consumption: consumption \Con*sump"tion\ (?; 215), n. [L. consumptio: cf. F. consomption.]

. (Med.) A progressive wasting away of the body; esp., that form of wasting, attendant upon pulmonary phthisis and associated with cough, spitting of blood, hectic fever, etc.; pulmonary phthisis; -- called also pulmonary consumption. [1913 Webster]

Consumption of the bowels (Med.), inflammation and ulceration of the intestines from tubercular disease.

Syn: Decline; waste; decay. See Decline. [1913 Webster]

Turns out my grandmother does not have consumption. She has cancer.

Cancer is evil, it has attacked 3 grandmothers, my fraternal Grandma, my husband's mother, and now this grandma.

But. She is 94 years old. The evil cancer may have been waiting for years to strike, and it has had no chance against this tough woman until very recently.

Maxine, (my grandma) grew up in the depression. Once she got a broken lamp for a birthday present. She was so happy, so thankful for this broken lamp that she put it on a box next to her bed and pretended it worked. I think there is a lesson in that story somewhere, (note the irony. This would be funny if you could hear my voice and see my face, just watch the eye roll) but Maxine would rather scare children into good behavior instead of living by an example. So she told me stories about locking up Santa in the attic if I wasn't a good girl. "I won't let him out of my attic if you don't behave, Dapoppins. I trapped him up there last Christmas, and kept him fed on a diet of cookies and milk all summer. You want Santa to bring you anything, you had better be good at Grandma's house."

Since she won't pay for the extra help in the assisted living home, I get to give her showers. And since she won't use a wheel chair, she spends a lot of down time in her bed.

Now, you may be thinking that the word CANCER for a 94 year old woman who now weighs less than a hundred pounds, is a death knell. She's suffered for years with back problems, arthritis, and pains I can only imagine. She's led a hard life and deserves a respite.

But instead she wants to fight. She wants to fight for her life, every day, every week, every month.

I have never been more amazed or in awe.

Proof that I do scrap is below:

2009-09-08T18:33:00.000-07:00

Gratuitous Scrappy-ness

Gratuitous cute-ness for Grandma

Gratuitous for me in a weak moment...

Gratuitous for my best friend....

Wednesday

2009-09-02T16:43:00.001-07:00

This was new.

I called the doctor's office today to see when flu vaccinations would be available. Last year, we had the new vaccine mist, and I really noticed a positive difference from when we had done nothing. Reception lady on the phone said mist is in, and invited us to come today.

It is only about a 25 min drive. But I had to take my husband's car. Husband has a dark cloud over him where cars are concerned; he hasn't had one with working air-conditioning since 1998 or something. We were so miserable packed into his little four door. I don't know how husband stands the punishment.

So we get to Doctors office to be told there was a mistake. Mist is available but not covered by state insurance. "Well, not having anyone whine or cry about shots is worth my right arm, I will just pay cash."

"We are so sorry," The young lady says to me. "We just found out a couple of hours ago, but, we aren't allowed to take cash from you. It is a breach of contract on our part with the State Insurance. We could be fined and loose our contract."

The inhaler mist for the flu vaccine is really nice, and not overly expensive. But I couldn't even pay for it out of pocket if I wanted it? Until now state insurance has been good to us, fully covering a broken leg, a broken arm, a couple of chest x-rays and allergy medications.

But I have never been told that I couldn't pay for something it didn't cover until today.

Not liking that one bit.

How to be fulfilled

2009-09-01T11:26:00.001-07:00

We are still kind of in employment limbo here, which is very strange. My relatives seem to be waiting for good news or bad news, and really, there is just no news.

But no one has died recently, so that is good.

My maternal grandparents are still alive. One in an assisted living home, and the other in a full care Veterans hospital. They lived together in the same home for 50 years, and it is strange now for them (and for us) to be separated, but for the last couple of years, we all seem to be coping.

Grandma is 94. A recent bout with consumption (I always wanted to use that word) has left her very week, but she doesn't want to increase her care at the place where she lives. Visiting her, I often get a cost run-down of everything. "It cost $15 dollars a day for them just to drop off my meals when I am sick. I already pay for them to do my laundry and clean up a bit once a week, if I want anything else, I have to pay for it. Do you know how much it cost to live here? I don't want to dip into my gambling money. "

Grandma had been sick and stuck in bed for awhile. I was worried she wasn't getting proper care so I asked about it. The poor woman. Or rather poor me. Grandma is one feisty broad. If she doesn't want to do something, she isn't going to do it. And if there is something she wants to do, well, watch out, cause there will be nothing stopping her. The Care Coordinator lady came into the room with her little clipboard. "We would be happy to help her shower and use the restroom," she told me with a cheery smile. "But we have to work it into the schedule, and add the additional fees."

Fee is a red light word to grandma.

"I don't need anything," she said. "Maybe some food now and then. But I am fine. When this muscle spasm stops I am going to take a shower and then see how far down the hall way I can get. I feel pretty good today."

"You can barely make it to the bathroom in time. And you haven't showered in two or three weeks." I said.

The Care Coordinator Lady smiled helpfully and waved her clip board, "We we are certainly here to help. Just tell us when and authorize the charge."

I saw grandma flinch at the word 'charge'. Now it isn't that there isn't enough money, but she doesn't want to touch anything but the monthly check, and even getting into that will mean less cash on hand. Having grown up in the depression and the sacrifices of WW2, less is not a good thing to grandma.

"Well, if you want, I can help you shower." I offer. This isn't the first offer I have made. Grandma is a strong woman used to giving help, not taking help and she usually shrugs off any of my offers.

But I remember days spent at her house, raiding the refrigerator, eating all the ding dongs, watching hours of cartoons. I remember pulling toys out of the attic, dressing up in my mom's prom dress, playing in the basement and going through the mystery of all the cupboards down there. I remember vacations, car rides and care packages. A grandma and grandpa who were always there for me. Helping them with little things is a chance to give back. To say thanks for wiping my nose and my butt.

The fear of spending money makes her much more receptive to my offer. "Sure, you can help me. That's fine."

"Today?"

"Yes, alright. I am feeling okay today. You can help me. That would be nice."

I think some of the happy in the Care Coordinator's smile went away. "Okay," she said, "Just let me know if you need anything. I just have to do a little paperwork. It's very easy. I am here if you need anything. Anything."

And so I got to give grandma, who I affectionately call The Walking Skeleton, a shower. I have been nagging her about her weight since last Christmas. And worrying about it. I am not sure what holds her together, but it isn't more than bone and string. She hates seeing herself like this, and I am not going to lie to her and say something silly, Like, you look great. I was thinking the other day she is the perfect fashion model size. A walking wire hanger. Maybe that designer who called Hidi Klume fat, could hire grandma.

The shower went really well. She wasn't exhausted after, and she actually let me help by washing her back and her feet. We talked briskly about getting better, and how nice hot water feels, and 'Is my hair going to turn wiry and white like that?' and 'what the heck happened to your boobs?'"

It was a bit macabre…or something…that I walked away from the session feeling really good about myself. I tricked grandma into letting me help her! Ha! I got one-up on her! I know. Sounds strange. But in a time when I am trying to squeeze every bit of positive out time spent with my elderly grandparents, it was a very fulfilling afternoon.

Moral of the story?

If you are feeling down today, go give an old woman a shower.

Paper Work

2009-08-18T14:02:00.001-07:00

I feel like I am selling the souls of my children filling out the paperwork for school.

Every paper must have name, age, birth dates, blood type, genome typing, address, proof of address, proof of citizenship, proof of existence, hair color, eye color, ethnic background, government authenticity certification of ethnicity, weight, height, hours of t.v. watched, name of Doctor, name of alternate Doctor, Permission to see a therapist in the event of disaster, a list of all allergies, and a parental release form to be in the presence of wheat and peanut butter.

The same blah, blah, blah over and over. I was thinking of just making some labels at home on ye-ole-printer and just sticking them on every piece of paper since I have to fill everything out this year times four.

I tried retreating from reality in my air-conditioned bedroom, but the kids kept coming into check on me to see if I was okay.

Nothing is turning out the way I planned it.

I should be at the beach with Hugh Jackman and family, or taking tea with Gerard Butler discussing prospects for the mother of his children, not worrying about nasty things like the bills or whether or not I can afford to get a hair-cut.

I filed a petition with my local Savior, declared my faith and patience, and resigned myself to the coming storm. The recession may be over for some people, but for us, it is just entering it's second month.

The deepest cuts to our household have been in coffee and chocolate, travel and summer blockbuster popcorn movies. But, there might be more to come.

And I am okay with that.

Sorta.

Remember how I said I was gonna get a job? Yeah, will, despite an affidavit of confidence from several people who survived my child care skills, I didn't get the job. I still hope for some babysitting opportunities. Because someone somewhere must need a babysitter. Right? And despite my sore hands from filling out paper work, I can still change a diaper, talk on the phone, do laundry, and watch Dr. Phil all at the same time.

((And my husband isn't working yet…so you can keep praying for that too if your inclined to pray, but he as contracted a couple of web jobs which is really good.))

Wednesday

2009-08-05T12:29:00.000-07:00

The outside temperature has finally come down. Nights are cooling off, and I no longer feel like I need a shower every 10 minutes.

And we got the computer back.

Obviously.

I lost all my links, however. They were saved, and filed, but I can't figure out how to turn them into proper html and load them back into firefox, even then, for some reason, some of my favorite stops are mysteriously missing. So I used to visit you and now I am not visiting you it means I lost your link. And maybe I lost my mind a bit.

How does that happen? How did I get a virus anyway? Was it the scrapbook porn? The excessive font download addiction? I have no idea.

Everything same here...I am trapped at home with everyone. TRAPPED! My husband keeps saying I should enjoy this while I can.

Sometimes I just want to smack him.

Posting from the library

2009-07-29T11:42:00.001-07:00

ACK! Experiencing heat wave here in Northwest. WHAT Torment!

Double ACK! Computer caught a rootvirus in May...and just last week shut us down. $$$ to fix but we can not live without computer. MOTHER, please send money!

other than that, everything is peachie!

Click the linky and check it out

2009-07-21T10:43:00.000-07:00

This is what my husband has been working on. He's been a teacher for some odd years, but his soul is that of an artist. I should say soemthing sarcastic here, because that has got to be the sappiest thing I have said in a long time. However true. Although Mr. Poppins, can't not teach, he can't not art either. He sees the world differently, and is hoping to make some money it.

He told me to tell you critiques are welcome...be gentle.

Blue Elle

Therapy

2009-07-09T20:18:00.000-07:00

Most of my friends know that I have a serious problem.

Abut a year ago, after being caught indulging in my secret problem in a local park, an intervention was staged. Friends and family gathered about, their faces were serious. Full of concern. At first I thought it was a surprize birthday party, until my best friend Bee started passing out little pamphlets to everyone about how gently convince me to change my evil ways.

"Poppins, you have a problem," Bee said with a sad shake of her head.

"Huh? Where's the diet Coke? How can you have a birthday party without diet Coke?" I asked.

"I'll get you your diet Coke fix later, dear," said my husband with a beleaguered expression. If you know any men who have been married to caffeine addicts for more than ten years, you probably have seen this expression before. Deep, sad eyes, but sort of tight around the mouth.

"We need to talk to you," Bee tried to continue as I searched the dining room for presents. Where were the gifties? This was all about me, wasn't it?

"Dapoppins. Please sit down. We need to talk about what happened. In the park."

"In the park? Oh, that. No big deal, it was all cleared up." I blushed a bit, embarrassed. I mean, anyone would be embarrassed, wouldn't they? My blush was accompanied by a a smile. I couldn't help it. A satisfied cat-in-the-cream smile as I remembered the park.

Bee kneeled before me and took my hand. My sister-in-law and niece scooted close. Someone got my mom on the speaker phone so she could listen in and offer sage advise.

Thank goodness my Dad's Wife wasn't there. She had caught me indulging once in the bathroom of her house and proceeded to lecture me up one side and down the other. The woman isn'tshy about giving her opinion about anything, and until that day, I had never even considered that my little fetish might be detrimental to anyone.

I smiled at Bee's earnest face. I kinda liked her there, kneeling. You know, she is about a foot taller than me, and always makes me feel like a lawn gnome who forgot his hat. "Dapoppins, you know you have a problem, don't you?"

"Uhhhhhh-"

"It was alright when you were able to keep your problem within family and friends, but at the park you forgot yourself didn't you, and that wasn't the first time. You can't keep doing this. Your children are going to grow up warped and think every body does this..."

"Well, I--"

Bee wouldn't let me bring out my list of excuses. "No. No Dapoppins. You just can't go around pinching bottoms. You can't. It just isn't done. You really scared those people at the park."

I looked down shamefully. There it was out in the open. Where everybody could see it. I PINCH BUTTS. I can't help myself. Playing tag, going up the stairs, if there is a kid in front of me with a nice round bottom I want to pinch it. Not a painful pinch. Just a gentle little-squidge. And then the kid squeaks and giggles and I want to do it again. I Butt pinch so often that my younger kids, and Bee's own daughter, will wiggle their behinds at me and say, "Have a litlle Butt!" Just to tease me.

"We were playing tag," I offered to Bee lamely.

"You have a problem. You need to keep your hands to yourself."

Okay, all that happened ages ago, and I have been going to Bottom Pinchers Therapy for awhile. But last night my seven year old came out of the bathroom nakid and it was so totally-butt-open-season that I could not help myself. Who can resist that sort of temptation. I managed to get one pinch in before he squealed and shut the door, deciding to get dressed.

I think I need more therapy.

Aftermath

2009-07-06T12:48:00.000-07:00

We spent Independance Day with family. The plan was to be at their house by four. At about two, I was thinking a nap sounded better than actually getting dressed for the day, but my husband pulled that guilt trip, you know the one about, "You promised the kids, what are you going to tell them?" and, "You set this all up, my family is expecting us," and, "There will be food." I'm not sure which argument worked the best on me, but we made it to my Brother and Sister -in- Law's home in record time.

I love my husbands family, we come from really different backgrounds. ---Separate sides of a river, North and South. There is so much that makes us different. They tan...I rust. They drink Crystal Light, I drink diet-coke. You know, those sort of culture differences that make life in a family interesting. My Sister-in-law is clever, and organized, and she enjoys a good family gathering. She made baby back ribs just for us! YUM. Serisoulsy. I love my sweet meat. My husband shuns anything with a bone in it. But I grew up with good BBQ. Sister-in-law had never made ribs before, and had them all ready to go on the grill when we arrived, slathered in a yummmmmmmy sauce. She asked us if we had any idea how to make them. "They take as long to cook as hamburgers right? Just throw them on the grill?"

I guess that depends on how you like them, chewy and slightly raw, or tender and fully cooked.

I love that we all had a good laugh about the ribs as we googled recipes. People. This is something exactly like I would do. Prepare a new dish, for company, that I have never prepared before. Like the time I tried to make real chocolate frosting for a birthday cake. The Party was in session and I was sending my husband out for last minute canned frosting while a big pot of lumpy, over cooked chocolate mess hardened on the stove. Or like the time I tried to make matzaball soup. I have eaten it. Seems simple enough---but the matzaballs have to sit for a bit before hand and there is no cheating on this. Unless you like cracker rocks in your soup. Yeah, that is de-lish! Now my kids think that is how it is suppose to be. So I loved that Sister-in-Law could be teased by one and all and yet the day was still full of fun and laughter.

Plus, there were plenty of munchies...fruit...salads...and deserts. I ate so much I am still full.

And the ribs turned out great.

_________

Notice the pale backgroud? I was looking for a new tempalte with lively color, but not too many distracting images or without any plain tan or brown or orange, and without a HUGE header and I haven't found it yet.

________

No jobs yet. Looking. Frantically.

_________

I am going to visit everyone in my reader, and in my fav blogs folders! This is my goal for the week. Maybe I will visit twice! Yeah! Go me!

A bundle of JOY

2009-06-14T20:28:00.000-07:00

I am just a bit crazy. My husband said,"I am not even listening to you."

My Dad said, "Dapoppins, I am gonna wring your neck if you don't quit talking like that,"

My girl friend laughed and said, "I don't think so."

But I am sure that I am right and everybody else in the world is wrong.

POSITIVE. Because we all know, that A BABY would fix everything in my life.

(((pats readers on back and hopes no one is choking)))

Yes. I said it. You can quote me on it. If I could have another baby, time would stop for me. The world would yield to all the needs of my baby and me, I would still have another child at home instead of preparing to wave goodbye to my youngest in September... I would have a good reason for being fat and eating whatever I want, a good reason to take long naps, a good reason for being cranky. A good reason for staying at home instead of having to go to work, because. Seriously. IT IS ALL ABOUT ME!

I am having a bit of a crisis here. Too much change. And if I could have another baby, I would be so consumed with my body functions that I wouldn't notice anything going on around me. A baby in my life wouldn't signal change, just a slight stretching. Since I have done it before, I know I can do it again. I would worry. I would stress, and I would have excuses for frequent pitiful outbursts instead of having people calmly take my by the hand and saying that, "Change is okay, change is good. You need this."

It is a good thing we don't have fire-arms in this home. I am just saying. The next person who tells me change is good might just come face to fire-arm. If I had one. Which I don't.

This is the the list of here-to-fore mentioned and unmentioned changes;

1. I am applying for a job as a pre-school teacher. I can do this. I will enjoy this. I would rather stay home.
2. IF I get teaching job, kids will all go to private school full time. Kids really want to go to school with other kids.
3. My husband is making a job transition. That is, come September, there is no job for him. He is looking not only for a new job, but a new career. And he is happy about it. Makes me want to smack him. How dare he be positive?
4. My youngest child, who did not go to pre-school because I wanted to protect her from germs and because I would rather sleep in, is going to go to Kindergarten. My last baby. My last reason for getting out of bed. Yeah, I know, that is exaggerating. I would get out of bed eventually anyway, but she makes me get up, and while she sips her juice in my lap, I sip my coffee and check my email. No more of that when I have to get myself and four kids ready for school.

If I had another baby 3 of those changes would not take place. I would have a young baby to snuggle instead of my big girl, and I would have to stay home to take care of young baby and protect him from germs and the outside world. And the boys would just have to home school their sister too, so that I can take long naps, RIGHT?

So. Now, how can I get my tubes untied without paying for a doctor visit? Hummmmmmmm?

(please note, there is no baby in my future, change is inevitable, and I reserve the right for kicking and screaming along the way.)

Hey there

2009-05-31T10:39:00.000-07:00

I have been trying to be more positive and grateful lately, but discovered that I have a serious problem with that. I mean, heck. How can you be positive and still be viciously sarcastic? How can I be grateful and still over exaggerate all my daily trials and tribulations so that my life seems interesting and entertaining? Tell me How?

Example. It is a beautiful day. The sun is shinging, the birds are litterly singing outside my window.

That is dull. Dull dull dull, no laugh, chuckle, or shared understanding to be found in that. I mean, who cares. Yeah. So? It might be intersting if the sun was shining, the birds were singing, I took the kids to the park and saw Hugh Jackman there with his kids. And oh he is really such a good dad, watch him lift his dauthter over his head. Look at his smile. His sholders. His muscles...O'come on. You know you want to look.

But Hugh hasn't moved in down the street, and the sun is lovely. Yada yada yada.

Example 2: It was such a beautiful day today I decided to clean my bathroom. First I put on my toxic suit, waders, rubber gloves, mask, hair net and pulled out the industrial stuff. Then I opened the window because I couldn't breathe, and a bird flew in lit on my arms. More birds joined me, until we were humming a little tune. Squirrels came, and grew ten times their size from the fumes but still had happy Disney smiles and helped me clean the sink...errr something like that. But at least that's interesting.

Pay no attention to the blogger behind the curtain, folks. She is just a tad bit nutts.

I haven't been blogging. Or visiting much. If I haven't visitied you I am telling you right now it's not YOU, its me. You are wonderful. Kind. Humerous. Entertaining. Really you are. So what if you haven't showered all week because you would rather blog. What do I care. I haven't showered either. It has nothing to do with you or your fabulous writing skills or your enchanting imagination.

No. It is all me. Just me. Please don't cry. You knew this day would come. In the beginning, we were perfect for each other. I liked eggs sunny side up, so did you. But I didn't really. I was just saying that to make you happy. I wanted you to like me. I did. I would say anything to make you happy. But I wasn't being true to you. I wasn't being honest. YOU deserve better.

No. This isn't the end. I will still be here. I will still check on you. Did you finally buy that Snuggie you have been eyeing? I want to know. But things are changing. I am going to be more busy.

I am going to get a job.

change

2009-05-30T14:47:00.000-07:00

This music is stuck in my head. But I can't think why.

A belated thanks to our vetrans and military.

I can't belive that it is June. I have got some serious procrastinating skilzs. I think I should be nomminated for something. Perhaps the award could contain something caffinated, so that I can have more energy while enjoying my procrastinating??? What do you think?

Kids are healty, I am healthy (as far as I know) and change is on the horizon.

Ch-ch-cha- change.

Yeah. If you have ever read this blog before you know that my least two favorite things in the world are CHANGE and buggy worms on the driveway.

For years, I have fortified myself against things like change. I don't move the furniture around. The same pictures always hang on my walls, I not only still have my peach princess prom dress, I can still wear the darn thing and look hawwwwt. Heck, I have even kept the same husband for a number of years!

But change is on the horizon.

YUCK.

Maybe I just need to turn up the music. Anyone want to play that video again?

Thinking of you.

2009-05-10T10:02:00.000-07:00

I worked on this post for hours.

not really. I just copied it from an email. I don't know who wrote it. Who is it who writes these things? This is better than a Hallmark card.

From Mommy to Mom to Mother

Real Mothers don't eat quiche; they don't have time to make it.

Real Mothers know that their kitchen utensils are probably in the sandbox.

Real Mothers often have sticky floors, filthy ovens and happy kids.

Real Mothers know that dried play dough doesn't come out of carpets.

Real Mothers don't want to know what the vacuum just sucked up.

Real Mothers sometimes ask 'Why me?' and get their answer when a little voice says, 'because I love you best.'

Real Mothers know that a child's growth is not measured by height or years or grade...

It is marked by the progression of Mommy to Mom to Mother...

4 YEARS OF AGE - My Mommy can do anything!
8 YEARS OF AGE - My Mom knows a lot! A whole lot!

12 YEARS OF AGE - My Mother doesn't really know quite everything.

14 YEARS OF AGE - Naturally, Mother doesn't know that, either.

16 YEARS OF AGE - Mother? She's hopelessly old fashioned.

18 YEARS OF AGE - That old woman? She's way out of date!

25 YEARS OF AGE - Well, she might know a little bit about it.

35 YEARS OF AGE - Before we decide, let's get Mom's opinion.

45 YEARS OF AGE - Wonder what Mom would have thought about it?

65 YEARS OF AGE - Wish I could talk it over with Mom.

The beauty of a woman is not in the clothes she wears, the figure that she carries, or the way she combs her hair. The beauty of a woman must be seen from in her eyes, because that is the doorway to her heart, the place where love resides. The beauty of a woman is not in a facial mole, but true beauty in a woman is reflected in her soul. It is the caring that she lovingly gives, the passion that she shows, and the beauty of a woman with passing years only grows!

Happy Mother's Day

pictures

2009-04-23T19:08:00.000-07:00

There was a point to my March Pity Party. There really was. I was going to get it all out, feel sorry for myself, share in the misery, the dullness, the embarrassing moments that still haunt me, and then, instead of being a wallow-er, a pig in the mire so to speak, I was going to put on my happy hat, and my rose colored glasses and play the "glad game" for the rest of the year.

Yep. That was the plan.

AND I was going to get things done. Finish what I start. Be responsible and reliable and readable, the three most important R's of blogging.

But I haven't' gotten around to any of that. I think I might still be stuck in March. And avoiding you because I haven't fulfilled my self-inflicted obligations.

And because I haven't visited in a bit. And because I love using And to start sentences because it makes me feel accomplished, I will leave you with some eye candy only a grandma will care about. Yes. It is time for those unbelievably cute photos of my unbelievably cute kids.

Special NOTE: Thank you Mom, for saying while visiting us, "I don't know how you do it..." Those seven little words make me feel so justified in so many ways.

Snacking on frozen blueberries.

This is what happens when you give a 5 year old make-up for her birthday...

Spring views at the Portland Japanese Gardens.

Visitning the Portland Zoo with unknown woman who might or might not be my mom...

My children with that woman who keeps following us...

Blooms from the Chinese Gardens

Posing before going to church on Easter

My Mom's new baby